I Would Rather Be In Bed

Don’t push too hard. Don’t expect too much. Don’t worry about that.

That’s my favorite.

Don’t worry.

Don’t worry about that, that will never happen. Because let me tell you, it always happens. I am strong willed and loud about it. I am an exhausting human to be around. I push and I push and I push too far. I don’t sleep and I’m exhausting to keep up with. I know exactly what I want and I have not one ounce of reservation in my body to make it known. The problem is, want and deserve are two very different sides of a heavy and burdened coin.

To watch me every day you wouldn’t think so. On the outside I’m quiet and contained.

It’s this stupid brain of mine. And the people who are close to me that have to deal with it on a regular basis that suffer the collateral damage. Can I really blame them for the anger when it becomes too much? When all the pushing tips the edge and the contents come spilling out? My constant anxiety never quite loosens it’s grip and just ends up strangling everyone around me.

Don’t worry.

They always tell me not to worry, my friends, my family… They understand, so they say. How? I don’t even understand. I don’t understand this endless black pit of misery that boils away in my brain. I don’t understand this jittering, boiling need to know, to have the answers, always, right now. I don’t understand this panic that eats away at me if things aren’t exactly as they were supposed to be. I don’t understand why my standards clear Mt. Everest and why I can’t understand that people are human. However, I am the most fallible wasteland there is and I just expect everyone else to exceed expectations. Ah, but introspection is such a bitch, isn’t it?

When cut I bleed red just like everyone else. I’m tired of the nightmare merry go round that never stops in my brain. I’m tired of wishing I knew the right things to say entirely too late. I’m tired of pushing people away because they’re tired of all the garbage that isn’t theirs to take out. I don’t know how to say I’m sorry enough times when I’ve said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing, held on too tightly yet again. Saying it’s just because I care I’m sure gets old so fast.

I’m tired.

You want to think it’s you, and I want to scream at you it’s not. It’s me. I’m broken. I break down the whole until they think they’re nothing. That’s how very broken I am. I’m a disease. A parasite. I am nothing. I am the nothing.

Don’t worry, I’ll try and remember that. I’ll try and leave you whole.

I deserve nothing.

That is the fate of the weary, the destitute, and the damned.

I want to fix me. I keep trying.

Because I can’t break you too.

But I can’t find the glue.

Please. Be patient while I look.